


Failed Experiment

by rabid_plotbunny



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Hojo is His Own Warning, Transformation, is dark crack!fic a thing?, pseudo-scientific experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabid_plotbunny/pseuds/rabid_plotbunny
Summary: Genesis finds himself caught in a nightmare thanks to Hojo.“Those bonds were made to hold Sephiroth,” the weasely scientist said with a sinister smirk.  “They will have no trouble holding Hollander's little failure.  Do feel free to keep trying, though.  It is always interesting watching the bug try to free itself of the web.”
Comments: 22
Kudos: 31





	1. Failed Experiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens after playing FFVII Remake for 20+ hours in 2 days, lol. Genesis forces his way to the forefront to remind everyone he exists.
> 
> First two chapters got written in a mad spree this morning. After that? Who knows. Tags will be added/edited as the story progresses.
> 
> ...excuse me, Wall Market is calling... :-p

He awoke to the last lingering tingles of a Cure, leaving behind only the tender memory of pain at the back of his head and neck. What had happened? How had he been injured?

Keeping his eyes closed for the moment, knowing from previous experience how nauseating it could be to do so before the Cure was completely finished its work, he tried to remember. Had he been on a mission? No, that didn’t feel quite right, though not terribly wrong either. Preparing for a mission, then? Perhaps. He couldn't recall having left HQ. Had there been some sort of accident? What had he been _doing?_

He could recall getting into a familiar elevator — the Tower, then — and punching in the button for a floor. What floor? Where was he going? What was the assignment?

He remembered feeling annoyed, irritated. The mission was beneath him. He couldn't believe he’d been assigned as glorified errand-boy to Ho—

Oh.

 _Oh_. Oh _shit._

Mako-blue eyes snapped open, his first glance around taking in the sterile steel walls, the over-bright lights overhead, the spectacled lab-coat-wearing madman already approaching with some sort of cart with a rattling tray littered with medical implements. His instinctual move away was met with failure and revealed him to be strapped down to the bed he lay on, wide leather cuffs reinforced by SOLDIER-resistant metal circled wrists and ankles. Straps of similar material held him down at the knee, hip, and shoulder.

He couldn't help the instinctive tugging at his wrists, trying in vain to pull free or snap the bonds, despite knowing the likely futility of his efforts, especially since—

“Those bonds were made to hold Sephiroth,” the weasely scientist said with a sinister smirk. “They will have no trouble holding Hollander's little failure. Do feel free to keep trying, though. It is always interesting watching the bug try to free itself of the web.”

Blue eyes glared at the glint of light off the psycho's glasses. “If I am such a failure, why am I here? What do you want with me?”

“I have been working on a new method to increase my experiment's speed and agility and simply wish to test it on someone who — though similarly enhanced — was, shall we say, disposable? I need to make sure the process works as intended before applying it to the primary subject.”

“ _Disposa–!_ ” Genesis raged, tugging against the bonds with renewed fervor. “I am _not_ disposable!”

“Of course you are. You are nothing but a failed experiment by a second-rate hack calling himself a scientist.” He reached past Genesis’ head, hands coming back into view holding a mess of straps and wires which he promptly set to strapping onto the SOLDIER's head, ignoring his evasive twitches and jerks with practiced ease. A buckled strap under the jaw ensured that it would not be coming loose without help.

To the hells with this. Genesis reached for the familiar fiery power of the materia in his bracer, only to feel nothing. His bracer was gone. No. Hard on that realization came the fact that it was not the only thing missing. He still wore boots, pants, shirt, and the leather straps that crossed his chest, but everything else — coat, armor, accessories, even his damned _earring_ — was gone as well.

A quick glance around the room showed his belongings piled up in a heap on one paper-littered table by a wall. He also saw another bed nearby, empty except for the body of a small cat — bigger than a kitten, but not yet full grown — wearing a crown of wires and leather as he himself was, a small mask lying beside it betraying the artificial slumber.

Movement at his side brought his attention back to his situation. Once again, he tried to jerk away from the scientist’s cold fingers as they reached for the loose sensor pads dangling from his new headgear, only to fail again as he couldn't move his head more than a few inches. The white-coated man compensated for each movement with the ease of long practice and a series of probes were stuck to various locations around his head in short order.

“Stop!” Genesis said, a confusing mix of anger and fear rising in him. He’d heard a few too many horror stories — memories — from Sephiroth about the dangers of being helpless in Hojo's care for it to be otherwise. “Let me go! I never agreed to this! You have no authority over me!”

Hojo, damn him, gave him what must have been an amused smirk that only came across as terrifying as the light glinted across his glasses with marvelous timing even as a mirthless chuckle escaped. “Actually, you did,” he corrected, “when you signed the SOLDIER contract. It was in the fine print for section 6, subsection 4, paragraph 9. None of which matters, given that I am head scientist in charge of the maintenance of all SOLDIER operatives. The fact that you are a failed experiment doesn't change that. Now open up like a good boy so we can proceed and see if we can get at least one success out of you.”

Genesis, despite the many many _many_ heated words that wanted to escape, clamped his mouth shut at the sight of the mouth guard, more horror stories flooding his brain. Wide-eyed, he fought even harder to escape the bonds that held him. He heard the faint groan of protesting metal from the bed, but it was over far too soon. His chest heaved as he sucked in panicky breaths through his nose, his racing heartbeat pulsing in his ears. His sight took on a faint green tinge as said panic triggered mako-fueled fight-or-flight response. Again, there was the sound of groaning metal but not enough. Still not enough!

Hojo watched his struggles with the almost-bored air of one who sees such things every single day.

He didn't stop struggling. Damned if he was just going to lie there and _let_ the bastard do whatever he had planned. If his bonds hadn't been mostly leather, with the metal reinforcing it on the outward side, he had no doubt that his wrists and ankles would have been shredded to the bone. As it was, they were already in the ‘severely bruised’ category and his wrists — without the protection of his gloves and bracers — were raw and he could feel the faint tickle of what he suspected was blood.

Hojo let him wear himself out for several long minutes before — seeing that he had no intention of stopping, and knowing that SOLDIER stamina could keep him going for _hours_ — stepped closer once more and reached out one hand.

Mako-blues snapped to the scientist as that hand pinched his nose shut, cutting off panicked breaths entirely even as he felt a slight bump at his lips as the man’s other hand waited with practiced efficiency with the mouth guard. He tried to shake off the hand pinching his nose even as his chest started to burn but it persisted, adding another failure to the tally. He bit his lip even as his face started to pound, chest heaving uselessly in a futile attempt to get air. Spots were dancing in his eyes and his vision had started to darken when instinct overwhelmed will and his mouth opened to suck in a large gulp of air – and a mouth guard that was securely in place before his mouth had even finished opening. His teeth sank into it even as his nose was released and he knew that whatever Hojo had planned for him, his last chance of putting it off — if not avoiding it entirely — was now gone. He watched the scientist move to a bank of machines sitting against the wall between him and his feline fellow prisoner and start fiddling with the settings. He jerked against his bonds yet again in denial. “Nnnnnnnnh!”

Hojo didn’t even bother to look up at his muffled protest. He simply took up a clipboard, checked the time and made a few notes. Checked a few of the machine's displays, scribbled more notes. Looked to Genesis with a superior, inhuman smirk, and flipped a switch.

It was nothing short of a miracle of timing that couldn't have been replicated if they tried.

Out in the city, one of the mako reactors was finally deemed ready and powered on for the first time.

Whoever wired and set up the electrical to that room in the labs hadn’t taken into account the possibility of a surge in power as a new mako reactor came online and cut corners to save gil, forgoing the fuses that could have stopped the surge before damage was done.

Genesis screamed, teeth clamping on that guard with lethal force. His head exploded in pain as the excess current hit, his entire body seizing up, going rigid and arching up off the bed as much as it could in the restraints.

Darkness.

He felt... odd.

He cracked his eyes open a slit and was greeted by the sight of steel walls, over-bright lights, and a bank of machinery. Memory came flooding back in a rush, much quicker this time than the last. Hojo. Restraints. Wires and mouth-guard. Pain. Darkness.

He could hear Hojo nearby, ranting about incompetence and ruined experiments and when would he find another suitable subject?

Relief flooded through him. Whatever the insane scientist had been trying to do had failed, and apparently spectacularly enough that he couldn’t simply try again after resetting the equipment. Come to think of it, there was a distinct bit of the heavy scent of burnt electrical, which meshed with the barely-remembered sight of sprays of sparks coming from the machines even as far too much energy jolted through him and tossed him into unconsciousness.

A few discrete stretches told him that the restraints were gone from his limbs, though the uncomfortable pressure on his head told him the wire harness remained in place. Time to get rid of that.

He couldn’t feel the constriction of the chin strap, so reached up and pulled it free even as he sat up and prepared to run like hell and not stop until he was safely back on the SOLDIER floor.

He opened his eyes fully and got his first good look around the room since awakening. 

His world ended.

He saw the now-familiar room in the lab. He saw the still-sparking and smoking bank of machines Hojo had been fiddling with. Saw Hojo pacing back and forth around the room as he ranted and raged.

Saw himself sitting up on the other bed, single-mindedly licking the back of one hand then rubbing it over his head from back to front like a cat. Once mako-blue eyes were now tinted green and slitted like a cat's... Or Sephiroth’s. He had Sephiroth’s eyes!

With a horrible sinking feeling he looked down at his hands, only to find himself staring at two round white paws, claws emerging and sinking into the bedding even as he stared.

No.

_No!_

Hoping against hope, even as the truth of the situation was already sinking like a lead weight in his gut, he moved over to a metal surface and looked at his reflection. Warped and blurry as it was, the image was still more than clear enough to show familiar mako-blue eyes and confirm the nightmare.

He was a cat.


	2. Escape?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just under 10 FFVII Remake hours later... Can't believe I've been averaging 10 hours/day. And sad that work week starts today so that number will go down to probably 2, boo!
> 
> Wrote chapter 3 this morning, which is pretty cool. Let's see if I can keep this up, lol! ^_^

The shock hadn’t subsided much — if at all. How could it? He was a damned cat! — when things went from very bad to even worse.

Hojo stopped pacing abruptly, turned to one of the lurking lab assistants. “Dispose of this mess.”

“Yes, sir,” the assistant said. “Do I send for Dr. Hollander, or just bring the SOLDIER to him?”

Hojo glared. “Did I say anything about that second-rate so-called scientist? No. I said dispose of this mess. That means as usual, you incompetent imbecile. Mako overdose, then dump all this trash in the undercity slums somewhere.”

“B-but that’s... I mean, he’s....”

“What's that I hear? You’re _volunteering_ for my next experiment?”

“I-I’ll dispose of them, just like you said! You can count on me!”

Once he was satisfied that the assistant had been terrified into compliance Hojo left the room, still fuming and muttering under his breath.

The assistant, with a wary look to the door Hojo had just left through, moved to the bed where the SOLDIER was still... grooming. He reached over and removed the wire harness from the man-cat’s head, earning a narrow-eyed glare and hiss, then unbuckled the remaining restraints. Another glance to the door and he went to a nearby cabinet, punched in an access code, then pulled out a syringe already filled with what Genesis could see was _way_ too much Mako. Was this so common that they kept prepared overdoses _on hand?!_

He pushed the thought aside; he had bigger concerns. Namely, the damned assistant was about to overdose his body! He’d _need_ that if he ever found a way to reverse this! But what could a cat do to — whoa! _What the-?_

While he’d been distracted, he hadn’t noticed the assistant approaching and now found himself held up in the air by the scruff, his body instinctively going limp despite his desire to do something, _anything_ , to hurt or maim the one that was going to destroy him. Maybe claw an eye out!

“Life’s not fair is it, boy?” the man asked him. He frowned, eyes narrowing as he took a closer look. “What... those eyes...” Then he shook his head. “I’m imagining things. Must be the light making the pupils look round. Wait. That's not right....”

The last thing Genesis wanted just then was for Hojo or his brown-nosing assistant to realize that while the experiment they were attempting had been a complete failure, something ‘interesting’ had occurred as a consequence. So when the assistant put him down on the same gurney as his human body, he drew on all of the knowledge of a life as a patron of the arts and would-be thespian and _acted_ as if his life — lives — depended on it. 

Which they did. No pressure.

“Meow?”

It came across a bit weak even by his own standards, but it did put the assistant somewhat at ease even as it prompted the unexpected. One hand reached over from behind him and clumsily pulled him closer, then he felt warm breath on his head a second before a tongue swiped across it between his ears.

Oh dear Goddess, was his body grooming _him_ now? Just the thought of licking a cat clean — and who knows _what_ this body had been exposed to as a lab animal? — was enough to make him want to gag but he forced himself to be still and closed his eyes to slits in an illusion of kitty-contentment. If he’d had any idea how to purr, he’d have tried that as well but oh well.

Apparently, it was enough.

The lab tech grunted, lay the Mako-filled syringe down by the head of the bed, disengaged the wheel-locks, and started to wheel the gurney out of the room and down a series of hallways Genesis had never seen in his life. “Must be seeing things. I’ve got to get more sleep or who knows _what_ I’ll be seeing down here.”

He was still trying to figure out how to get out of this mess considering that he was currently rather limited by the fact that he was a small cat and in no way capable of either speech — as far as he knew, anyway, and that was something he would _not_ be attempting anywhere near the labs — or of carrying his actual body anywhere when they reached their destination.

A series of hatches lined the walls. Three of them were — worryingly! — labeled ‘incinerator’ while the rest were simply labeled ‘garbage’ followed by a number; one through eight. The assistant considered a moment, then wheeled them over in front of the hatch labeled ‘5’ and hit the first of a series of buttons beside it.

“Lots of garbage, almost no inhabitants or visitors, good monster population. Excellent choice, as always.”

A buzzer sounded as the button was released and the hatch slid open. Another button, and two arms came out of the wall and seized hold of either side of the gurney.

Time was running out. What was he supposed to do?!

The assistant reached for the syringe. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. I always admired you. I hope that someone finds your body before the monsters eat it all so you can have a decent funeral.”

Worst. Eulogy. _Ever!_

‘I hope someone finds you before you’re eaten’? Seriously?! If he was so sad, why not dump him somewhere — I don't know — more populated?! Or hey, _not_ overdose him with mako before dumping him?! Or even, miracle of miracles, not _dumping_ him at all?!

Time was up. He had no plan, and even fewer options.

He did the only thing he could.

He pounced and swiped at the syringe, sending it flying off the gurney and skittering across the floor. It didn't shatter, more's the pity. Then, even as the assistant hurried after it with a distracted “ _Bad kitty!_ ”, he pawed that third and final button.

He barely heard the man’s “ _Shit!_ ” as the gurney abruptly tilted upwards with enough of a jolt to set whatever dead weight was on it sliding into the hatch and he was falling. Or, as it turned out, sliding down a very steep chute. For a long moment as he tumbled he had no idea where he was in relation to his body. Then from nearby he heard a distressed-sounding yowl he would fervently deny that his throat had the capability of sounding. Reaching out in that direction, he sank his claws into wool and leather and pulled himself closer. Thank the Goddess that the bedding had stayed above with the gurney!

Then they reached the end of the chute and were freefalling towards one of the many scrap heaps of Sector 5.

He seriously wondered if cats could have heart attacks. It felt like it was about to burst out of his chest it was beating so hard and fast.

He honestly didn't know how he was still alive.

He remembered falling through the air below the Plate, heading for the rapidly nearing bulk of a scrap heap, his claws sunk deep into the wool shirt and leather harness his body still wore. Remembered the sudden cold realization that though he could possibly survive such a fall as a SOLDIER-First, he was currently in the body of a cat who was definitely _not_ enhanced as a First.

Goddess, he was going to splatter on the scrap and then the cat in his body would probably eat him.

Definitely _not_ the glorious end he’d always thought he’d have, tragically cut down on the field of battle during some heroic endeavor. There would be songs. And plays. And possibly a movie. He would be remembered for his brave sacrifice and mourned by all, a bright and shining light snuffed out too soon.

Moments before they hit, seeing his life flashing before his eyes, strong arms wrapped around him and held him close, then there was an odd _twist_ in the air, and—

—his body landed on its feet, legs bending to take the force of the impact, with him safely clutched to its chest.

Dear Goddess.

He was alive.

He was also pretty sure he’d wet himself.

A tongue started licking him between the ears and on the back of his head.

_Lovely._


	3. A Different Kind of Success

It was nothing more than simple dumb luck that the lab assistant crossed paths with professor Hojo as he was wheeling the gurney back to its normal place after the botched disposal, especially as he was actively trying to avoid the man in an attempt to conceal that fact.

It was a little less dumb luck and la little more just plain dumb how he realized in that moment — far too late to make a difference — that instead of doing the smart thing and at least trying to conceal the still-full syringe of glowing mako in the bedding, he’d instead done the habitual and it lay in full view on top of the sheets at the head of the bed, a bright and glowing billboard of failure.

Hojo, of course, saw it immediately.

Shit. He was ending up in a tank now for sure, he knew it.

“I thought that I was clear that the failure was to be injected with that and disposed of, not that he would ride beside it and admire the pretty color!” the scientist berated. “Are you so incompetent that you can't handle a simple injection?”

“I know, sir! No, sir! I was just about to do that, sir, but that damned cat—”

“Fool! Are you blaming a stupid cat for your stupidity? How exactly did the animal outsmart you? Did it overwhelm you with the awesome power of its fantastical cute rays? Grow to fifty times its size and disembowel you? Or are you saying that it cast Sleep on you so you think I will overlook your sleeping on the job?”

The lab assistant’s face and ears were red from a mix of anger at the yet-again unprovoked insults to his intelligence and embarrassment because the unpleasant reality was that the professor was at least partially right. He _had_ sort of been outsmarted by an animal.

“It... pounced, sir,” he said, wincing internally as he did even as he fought to keep the involuntary flinch still as Hojo rounded on him once more. Before the man could go off on another rant, he hurried to continue. “It planned it, I swear! It knocked the Mako off the gurney and sent it across the room, then it deliberately hit the button to dump the gurney. They were gone before I could get back to stop it. It was not a normal dumb cat! I swear those creepy blue eyes could understand what was happening!”

Hojo closed his mouth on the words that had been about to escape, a frown joining the glare and deepening the already-intimidating lines on his face. “Blue eyes?” he said flatly.

“Y-yes, sir. Blue eyes, no mistaking them.”

“Incompetent imbecile!”

Not wasting any more time on the hapless assistant, Hojo returned to the scene of the morning's failed experiment. He ignored the wisps of smoke that still rose in — thankfully smaller — wisps from the fried machines, ignored the loud sound of the ventilation fans working at maximum to clear the air, and headed for the table where the relevant notes still sat abandoned after the catastrophic failure. Impatient hands flipped through them until he found what he sought.

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath to the empty room, though this time not knowing if he was referring to the assistant or himself.

He should have checked the cat after the experiment failed, not simply the main subject. It was unscientific not to. And yet his rage at the series of unforeseeable events that led to its failure had had him focusing on only the most obvious facet.

He should have examined the damned _cat!_

In his hand was a photo of the cat from before the experiment, staring out from the glossy surface with clear yellow eyes.

In retrospect, given this most interesting — if intensely frustrating — new information, it was good that the assistant had bungled his orders. It was not a simple and easy thing to give someone as enhanced as a First — especially one of _those_ three — Mako poisoning, and even harder to cure them of it afterwards. It would take a long time, time that _could_ have been used in productive experimentation. It was good that this wouldn't be the case here.

That being said, they _had_ been dumped in the Slums somewhere and would need to be retrieved before the experiment could be continued. That could be a bit difficult. Or perhaps not. The assistant knew the Sector in which they’d been dumped, and he could find the approximate location from the data recorded by the chute mechanism. Apprehension once they were found might not be as difficult as it could have been, as well; while one subject was a highly-enhanced First, it was not _that_ consciousness in control of the body. A cat would not know how to use the new power of the body it found itself in. Might not know how to use that body at all past an instinctual level, come to think of it. As for the cat's body....

Hojo left the room just as the shaken assistant was wheeling in the gurney, refusing to make eye contact, and headed over to his office. Sitting down at his computer, he pulled up the security footage from the room in question, then queued it up to just after the light show that had occurred. Being on a separate, properly wired circuit, the cameras had been unaffected by the surge.

He ignored the side of the screen that showed him and the assistant rushing in to assess the damage to the primary subject. Fast forwarded through the wait for said subject's return to consciousness, then slowed it back down to real time. He zoomed the image in on the cat in the other bed and waited.

Finally, it twitched. He watched with interest as it slowly, cautiously tested each limb before reaching up with one paw and pushing the wire harness off its head. Watched as it sat up and looked around, going still, ears slicked back almost instantly as it caught sight of the other occupants of the room. As it slowly — with clear reluctance! — looked down at its paws, only for the fur along its spine to stand on end and its tail to puff out to more than twice normal size.

A grim smile started to stretch across thin lips but the frown didn't fade away quite yet. Everything he’d seen hinted at certain unforeseen — yet extremely intriguing — consequences of the experiment's spectacular failure, but it was still only circumstantial. The feline never turned its head enough for him to see the eyes, to confirm or refute the assistant’s story.

Switching from camera to camera, he followed their progress down the halls, then to the disposal chamber. Saw the assistant wheel the gurney into position and trigger the first two buttons. Watched as the ever-increasingly agitated cat suddenly pounced, sending the assistant hurrying after the syringe that flew across the room like a glowing beacon. Saw the cat move purposefully to the buttons, rise up on its back feet against the wall and push the third button with a paw even as it looked toward the assistant and — finally! — the camera.

Hojo paused the video, zoomed in on the cat.

A sinister chuckle as colored pixels confirmed blue, and the cat’s obviously deliberate actions betrayed truth.

“Hello, Genesis,” he said to the still image. “We are going to be spending a lot of time together once we retrieve you, Subject G.”

He laughed.


	4. Now What?

Now that they were safely on the ground and not in immediate danger, his racing heart finally had a chance to slow down a little.

But only a little.

He knew that he hadn’t fully accepted the circumstances in which he found himself. How could he have? He’d gone from trapped at Hojo’s non-existent mercy as his latest test subject to running for his life in the body of a cat in what had been minutes, under an hour at the most.

There had been no time to even _begin_ to process this colossal mess and he pushed the growing weight of it aside now, too. It was so much, too much, for anyone to handle.

Right now, he had to focus.

He gave the monumental incoming breakdown an I.O.U. and turned his attention to the task at hand. Focus. One step at a time.

Breathe. What did he have to do _right now?_

First, he had to free his claws from his human body’s shirt and harness. The leather side was easy enough, but the wool side... that was giving him issues. As easy and instinctive as sinking the claws in had been in the heat of the moment, they stubbornly refused to obey him now. There was enough slack; his body had plopped itself comfortably down — for a cat in a human body, anyway — on the scrap after nailing their landing so his own feet were firmly on the ground. His claws, however, stubbornly refused to retract and every time he used the opposite paw to free it, _that_ one got stuck instead. It was a vicious cycle. Why wouldn't this just _work?!_ After a few long minutes he was reduced to just _pulling_ in frustration, body hanging its full weight from the trapped claws, unaware of the angry/afraid/frustrated/distressed yowl he was making until a hand — strange to see it without the usual accompanying gloves, bracer, and his trademark coat — closed around his arm just below the paw and lifted. It hurt a bit, his body’s current occupant not used to having the enhanced strength of a First to go along with the strange body, but as it pulled his paw up one by one the claws were freed; the motion working _with_ their curvature instead of against it.

He should have known that. Should have remembered. He’d fought enough catlike monsters in his career that he should have—

No. He pushed that aside into the ever-growing pile of ‘deal with it once you’re safe’.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Assess the situation. Prioritize. Use the tactical and logistical skills he’d honed over in Wutai. The claws were free. Now what?

They had to get to a safe place. It might have been morning when he’d begun the ill-fated mission that got him into this situation but the light was already speaking of afternoon and night came sooner beneath the Plate. He did not want to run into any of the monsters that came out in darkness. Looking at his paws, he acknowledged that he didn't want to come across any monsters in the daytime, either. It had been a very long time since he was forced to acknowledge the fact that a pathetic enemy like a wererat or gorger could probably kill him.

Forcing aside the feeling that came with that realization too — he was going to have a _glorious_ breakdown at some point, he was certain — he looked around the area from their vantage point near the summit of one of the many scrap heaps. Scrap, scrap, rubble, scrap, path full of monsters, more rubble, more scrap... and was that a bluish roof off in the distance, or more scrap? He stated, waiting for it to come into focus before realizing that that was as good as it was going to get.

He was starting to really hate this.

He marked the location of the blue maybe-roof in his mind then looked to the space between him and his destination. It was a long way, and he didn't know if they would be able to avoid the monsters. For longer than he would like to admit, he hesitated. He was actually afraid.

He had no means to fight, to defend himself. Even his only other option — run like hell — wasn’t really an option as he couldn't leave his human body behind. And _that_ was currently unarmed and unarmored, and as unfamiliar with self-defense in that body as _he_ was of _this_ one. He didn’t know if the cat in his body would even be able to walk!

Now that that idea had occurred to him, his attention turned inward as he paced, wondering at his own ability to properly control what should have been too many legs—

He smashed face-first into the scrap as his legs apparently got stage-fright at the attention he was paying and stopped working together.

He was really, _really_ starting to hate this.

He tried to get up, with an equally messy lack of coordination; once one leg obeyed, another stopped. He was overthinking it. He knew he was. He had been walking just fine before he started thinking about _how_. He just had to stop thinking about it.

Right. And when has telling yourself not to think about something ever done anything but make it the _only_ thing you _can_ think about? He needed a distraction.

He found one.

Stretched out flat in a rare beam of light spilling down from one of the gaps in the Plate above, more relaxed than he'd ever seen it, his body was sprawled out bonelessly, sound asleep.

Oh, for—!

He marched over there, ears back, tail straight up in indignation — he was _not_ going to think about the disturbing breeze hitting him where none should be — and hissed in its sleeping face. Didn't it realize the danger they were in? The scrap heaps in the Slums were not safe! There were monsters and bandits. And if that wasn't enough, he knew that it was only a matter of time before there were retrieval teams down here as well, looking to return them to Hojo's custody. His own actions in the disposal chamber would have been more than enough to betray the fact that he wasn't just a cat. They had to get as far from here as they could. Now.

That realization brought up another unwelcome thought. That blue rooflike thing was the obvious way to go from here; the only thing in sight that wasn't scrap or rubble. They couldn't go there.

Shit.

He still wasn't sure how he had managed to do it; how he got both of them up and moving at all, let alone moving enough that they had actually managed to put an impressive amount of distance between where they had landed after the fall and the spot they were holed up in now. Well, an impressive distance considering the current circumstances, anyway. They had also been lucky enough to find their current lair; an old rusted out section of pipe that was deceptively long. The greater bulk of it was buried deep in the scrap and stone about mid-way up a heap, hidden amidst a few other pipes of similar size, though none had the length of theirs. Not near the ground where roving monsters could stumble across them, and not near the top where they could be more easily spotted. Sure, not _all_ monsters stayed to ground level, but his quick scout of the area showed no sign of regular travel, and the pipe itself was barren of any spoor. With any luck, the depth of it would also be enough to hide them from any heat-seeking scans employed by one of the retrieval teams.

He’d actually been a bit surprised that they hadn't had to evade any searches yet, keeping an ear cocked for the distinct _thump-thump-thump_ of an approaching helicopter as they picked their way across the heaps. Just in case, he always made sure that they moved only from one spot of concealment to the next, never staying in the open for longer than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, the cat in his body followed along with only a little difficulty. He had no idea what he could do to stop it if it decided to wander off.

The light was dimming quickly as they came across the pipes and, after a quick scout showed no dangers in the immediate vicinity, he'd made the decision to hole up there for the night.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make.

Everything in him wanted to push on, get to somewhere safe-ish and find some way to get in touch with his friends. To somehow let them know what had befallen him and have them come — humiliating as it was — to the rescue. The whole question of how he was going to get back into the right body could be left until after that. But pushing on in the dark in the Slums was a bad idea at the best of times, and with people out looking for them would be just plain stupid. And even if he did somehow get them to this near-mythical ‘safe’ place, how was he going to get in touch? He didn’t have his PHS. He was also a cat; it wasn't like he could walk up to someone and ask to borrow theirs. The logistics of it started to overwhelm him and he pushed it aside with an effort. One thing at a time.

They had done all they could for that day: escaped the lab, not died doing so, found this place to hunker down for now.

He looked around the rusted out piece of junk that was home for the night and settled down against his body’s side for warmth as the cold of the metal beneath them did its best to leech it from him. He missed his apartment; warm air, a hot bath, hot food, a soft bed, and the company of friends. An arm flopped down across him and his body curled up around him on its side.

There were lots of problems like that ahead. What were they going to do? Where were they going to go? How were they going to get food? Get in touch with the people he _wanted_ to find him while avoiding those he _didn't?_

Those problems would have to wait.

Now was for hiding and resting up for tomorrow.


	5. A New Problem

His ear twitched. Again.

Still more than half-asleep he cracked open his eyes in irritation. What had woken him?

His ear twitched again, tracking a faint high-pitched chittering as it meandered from one side of the pipe to the other, moving from one blown-in clump of debris to the next until—

In his sleep-foggy state, apparently instinct took over because one second he was curled up comfortably against the side of his human body, and the next he was flying through the air. There was a squeak and a quick scramble, then a satisfying crunch from between his teeth. It was only after he proudly lay his prize down beside his now-awake body that he roused enough to realize just what he’d done. He had only a second to stare at it in horror — what was happening to him? What was he turning into?! — before it was quickly scooped up and...

Oh no. No, no, _no!_

He watched the last of the rodent’s tail disappear between familiar lips and into his body's mouth. Watched the throat swallow.

He was brushing his teeth for a _week_ once he was back in there. Possibly after puking that long. He had just caught a mouse and the cat in his body had eaten it.

_Ewwwwwwwww!_

It did bring something to his attention, though. They would need to acquire food somehow. While he was in a cat's body, he couldn’t exactly walk in and buy some from a shop. And while the body that he was in might be able to survive — he shuddered — on vermin, he was well aware of the massive caloric requirements of his own. A few mice would not be enough.

As if he hadn't had enough to worry about. Now he had to worry about himself becoming more cat as time passed, while his true body starved.

All while getting pursued by Hojo's retrieval teams.

Lovely.

Speaking of which... he could hear the regular _thump-thump-thump_ of a helicopter out there, accompanied by the occasional shout. They were out there now, searching. He could only hope that they had managed to leave little enough sign of passage that they wouldn't be found, or this was going to be one very short escape.

In some ways, it was a good thing. If they were not found, the searchers would continue on. If that happened, they would be focused more on looking ahead than looking back, logically assuming that he would be trying to get as far away from them as possible, and it would actually be easier to proceed. With any luck, they would even clear out the worst of the monsters as they did.

In the meantime, it looked like the pipe would be their home again that day.

Part-way through the day, with the search still going on outside, though a bit further away by now, his insides gurgling and growling demandingly, he actually managed to force himself to choke down one of the mice he managed to catch. Disturbingly, it was actually pretty good. Damned cat taste-buds. He had also managed to catch another three for his body, though he had to look away as they were happily devoured. Even as he did his best to provide, he knew that it was nowhere near enough food even when his body was doing nothing more strenuous than taking a long nap.

That being the case, he waited until he’d heard nothing from outside for nearly an hour before cautiously venturing to the pipe’s opening, keeping eyes and ears peeled for anything out of place.

Nothing.

A quick scan of the area showed nothing out of the usual; no Turks, troopers, or search drones. Now, where to find food? He didn't want to go far; his body was sound asleep in the pipe behind him and he didn't want to lose the way back. Maybe one of the other pipes might have more mice? They weren't much, but... well, he’d been about to say he’d had worse during the war when supply lines had been cut, but that had actually been rat so nearly the same thing. At least then it had been cooked. Coincidentally enough, now that he remembered it, the SOLDIER who had introduced them to the concept had originally been from the very part of the Slums they were in now.

Two pipes and six mice later — he had found a vaguely-clean scrap of cloth of unknown origin to carry them in — his luck, such as it was, ran out.

And so it was that when he got back to the pipe that was — for the moment — home, he was still limping slightly and sore all over but victorious after a fight that lasted longer and had been far closer than he’d ever admit. With him, he dragged his bit of cloth with his six mice, one of the two Potions he had found, and the dead wererat that had been guarding them.

Sephiroth looked up from his paperwork at the knock at the door. “Come.”

The door opened and Angeal came in. There was a line between his brows that ever only really showed itself when he was concerned about something. “Hey, Seph. Have you heard from Genesis?”

“Not recently, no. Why?”

“I haven't been able to get a hold of him for a couple of days now,” Angeal sighed. “Could you check if he’s on a mission?”

“Do you really think it’s necessary?”

“It's just not like him to take off without letting one of us know. I’m... a bit worried. What if he’s hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere?”

“Genesis is a First. He is more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“I know, and he'd Firaga me if he knew I worried. It’s just not like him.”

Sephiroth sighed lightly, put his pen aside and turned to the computer. A few clicks and password prompts later and he was looking at the mission roster. “There. He was assigned a mission two days ago. It was accepted and is marked as being in progress. Nothing to worry about.”

Angeal sighed in relief. “Oh good. I don’t suppose it says where the mission is?”

Sephiroth clicked through, indulging him. His feeling of amused indulgence fled as a wave of ice surged through his veins. “ _Shit._ ”

The frown, momentarily erased, was back with a vengeance even as Angeal went still. “What is it? Where is he?”

“It was a mission from Hojo. He went down to the lab. There are no updates after that.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Angeal agreed.


	6. Interlude I

The first thing Sephiroth did was check the date and time the mission had been accepted, then access the recorded security footage from inside the elevator to Hojo's lab. He fast-forwarded until Genesis came into view, a familiar annoyed scowl on his face. He obviously did _not_ want to be there.

So why take the mission, then?

He paused the playback to dig a little deeper into the mission itself. He couldn't access much — an alarming indication of someone's interference if ever he saw one — but though the actual details were hidden from him he was able to see that Genesis had _not_ , in fact, taken the mission voluntarily. It had been assigned to _him_ , specifically.

By itself, neither was real cause for alarm. SOLDIERs were assigned missions directly, based on their particular aptitudes, skills, and strengths all the time.

It immediately _became_ alarming when a specific person was assigned a “mission” in Hojo’s lab. Sephiroth well knew the horrors and pain those doors concealed; he wouldn't wish it on anyone. Except maybe Hojo himself.

“Well?” came the impatient query from Angeal, still sitting in the chair across from his desk, almost vibrating in concern. “Anything?”

“He was assigned the mission, but I can't access any details of it beyond what you already know,” he answered. “I found footage of him in the elevator there.”

“Genesis is smart. He knows from you what kind of sick monster Hojo is. He would be on his guard.”

Sephiroth grimaced. “With Hojo, that is not enough.”

Angeal stood abruptly, paced to the far side of the room and back, then around to Sephiroth's side of the desk. He saw Genesis frozen on the screen, a scowl on his face as he leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed petulantly. “Play it.”

Sephiroth let the footage run at actual speed. They watched as the redhead straightened, pushing away from the wall as the elevator came to a stop. They saw him pass under the camera to the doors, then immediately stagger back in, one hand at the side of his neck. They saw him pull his hand away, saw something shiny fall from his gloved fingers. Saw him turn toward the buttons wide-eyed and reach out a wavering hand before crumpling to the floor, eyes slipping closed. They saw a lab tech enter the elevator, grab him by the wrists and drag him out. Just before the doors closed, they saw Hojo himself come in, retrieve the thing that had fallen to the floor, then return to the lab.

They sped through the rest of the footage until they hit the current time, but there was no further sign of him.

“Hojo has him. What did he _do?_ I’ve never seen him go down that fast.”

One hand rose unconsciously to rub at the side of his own neck in memory as Sephiroth replied. “Probably one of the tranquilizers he uses on me. They work fast.”

“What are we going to do? We can't just leave him there! Who knows what that psychopath is doing to him! Can you get the footage from inside the lab?”

Sephiroth was already shaking his head no. “It’s on its own server and can't be accessed from outside the lab, supposedly so no one can steal ‘company secrets’ like the enhancement process.” A hesitant pause, then: “I could... go look for him. I’m about due for a checkup. I could say I just wanted to... get it over with... If anyone sees me.”

Angeal knew how much it cost his silver-haired friend to even make the offer. That lab was the source of every nightmare, phobia, and psychosis that had him waking up screaming in the night. He himself would hesitate to go in with that kind of history behind him.

He somehow doubted Genesis understood just how much Sephiroth valued their friendship if he was willing to dare entering Hojo’s domain for him.

He didn't know if he would be able to do the same in return. Thankfully, their history with Hollander was much less bloody and traumatic.

“There’s no other way to find out if he's still in there? I don't want you going in there unnecessarily.”

Sephiroth considered. “As I said, there is no way to see the security footage from outside... but maybe... We just want to know if he’s still in there, right?” His hands were already typing.

“Yes. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking there are disposal records I should be able to access; Hojo has a series of chutes that dump garbage into the Slums. Other than the main elevator, it’s the only way out of there that I know of. Besides the incinerators.”

“Incinerators?!”

“For biologicals and sensitive documents, supposedly,” he replied, still typing away. “They take some time to do their work, though, and he's usually impatient to move on to the next experiment, so usually uses the chutes instead.”

“Unless he wants to cover his tracks after abducting and experimenting on a First like Genesis!”

An indelicate snort. “The mission was _assigned_ , Angeal. That means it was approved by someone higher up, and Hojo answers only to Shinra himself. If Hojo told him he wanted to test some kind of new enhancement, he’d be given whatever he wanted. Trust me on this. He usually just uses me. I don't know why he would go for Genesis instead; he’s always ranting about the inferiority of Hollander’s ‘failures’...”

“If it was approved, there would be no need to hide evidence,” Angeal realized, relaxing slightly.

“Exactly. And any time a chute is used, it sends a timestamp to Maintenance so they know when they’re due for a check.” A bit more typing, then: “Yes, here we are. Hmm. A slow week for Hojo. Good.”

They skimmed the recorded logs, each line showing date and time, as well as estimated weight and volume.

Angeal spotted it first. “There!” he pointed.

A few clicks and Sephiroth had the chute number. A few more and he was able to bring up security footage of the end of the chute at the bottom of the Plate. Coming to the indicated time, they saw something come shooting out. It took a few tries — the blob was moving fast — before they managed to get a good frame paused. The video wasn't the best, low resolution and subject to the elements and Mako fumes as it was, but it was enough.

Enough to identify their missing friend, though it was odd to see him without his trademark coat, armor, and bangles. And was that a _cat_ stuck to his chest? Hojo must have been disposing of more than one experiment at the time.

“Where is he? Where does that chute go?”

“Sector Five,” came the reply. “Genesis is —or was— in Sector Five.”

Hojo, meanwhile, was cursing the incompetence of those he’d sent out on the retrieval mission. Weren't Turks supposed to excel at finding fugitives? And with the added help of the trooper backup, there was no good excuse to explain why his latest subject had not been retrieved. 

How difficult could it be?! It was the stupid mind of a cat in control of the First's body; it was probably still near the drop site, trying to hunt mice! And even if Subject G’s mind _was_ in control of the feline body, what could _he_ do? He certainly couldn’t carry his human form. He couldn't speak — or could he? One more thing to add to the list of experiments he had planned — so couldn't ask anyone for help.

So why weren't the two occupying one of the cells in his lab right now?

Incompetence. That's why.

Fine. If the normal method was not going to work, he supposed he could lend them a bit more help.

He had been wanting to test the changes he’d made to that guard hound anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we have a glimpse of what everyone else is up to! Muahahaha! Back to kitty-Gen next chappie! Stay tuned! ❤


	7. Hunted

Genesis was getting worried. He’d like to be able to deny it, to say it was just a mix of frustration at the overbearing presence of those he could only assume were searching for him specifically and the concern over the small amount of real human food he’d managed to acquire since the start of this whole fiasco.

It would even be partially true; there _was_ an inordinate amount of Shinra troopers out among the scrap, one part of the reason they hadn't moved in two days now. The other reason was had to do with the second bit. He _had_ managed to steal a couple of lunches from random unwary slum-dwellers, but it was nowhere near enough to fuel his human body. And so it did the only thing it could, instinctively shutting down and using the least amount of energy it could by sleeping.

He'd been sleeping for almost three days now, and the effect of the involuntary fast was starting to show as the body consumed more resources even asleep than it replaced. He was thinner. Not much, not yet, but enough to tell at a glance that he was unwell.

Genesis, wary as he was of leaving their little safe haven with so many people out searching for him, didn’t have a choice. He had to go out, had to get closer to a populated area so he could find food and some means of communication he could use to get in touch with someone. Problems of how to actually do said communicating were left for a later he was starting to wonder if he’d get to see.

There were a _lot_ of troopers out. To his dismay, he found that they were even being rather clever. They had put up posters about some sort of stray cat survey and wellness check, and offering people five gil for every stray cat they brought in. It was enough that every slum kid — and a depressing number of adults — spent their days out in the scrap heaps as well, rounding up every stray cat they could find. He’d almost been caught twice before he learned what was going on. It made everything so much harder.

It didn't help that he was also feeling this sense of what could only be called ‘impending doom’. Combined with the knowledge that they had already been in one place for far too long — and the knowledge that they _couldn't_ move at this point without being spotted — he lived in near-constant fear and paranoia.

Hojo was going to do something and soon, he just knew it. He also knew that whatever it was, he was going to like it no more than the horror that had left him in this situation in the first place.

And so he found himself slinking along in the shadows at the edge of Sector Five’s shanty town, searching for an unguarded lunch or phone or _anything_ that could help. He’d been there before — the last two days, in fact — and people had started to clue in to the fact that there was a lunch-thief around. He saw barely any food lying around, and what he did see was being either watched or eaten.

Except that one.

Wary, he still crept closer to the man who had seemingly fallen asleep sitting against the side of the path, his lunch — with its half-eaten sandwich — sitting in the open lunch-box. He checked the man with every silent, creeping step but he remained asleep; eyes closed, breathing deep and even. Another step. Another. Another. He opened his mouth and reached for the sandwich.

Some sixth sense had him jerking back even as the “sleeping" man gave an abrupt tug at a line, pulling taut a loop that had been carefully laid around the edges of that lunch box. If he hadn't pulled back, it would have closed around his neck. He bolted.

He barely heard the man's “ _Dammit!_ ” before there was an unfamiliar pain as his tail was grabbed and yanked. A quick application of razor-sharp claws made the man let go, even as another — a second man?! — grabbed at his scruff.

What was this, an ambush?!

He ducked into the narrow space between two nearby crates and squiggled his way behind them and away even as the men started shoving the crates out of the way in an effort to follow.

“Shit!” he heard as he fled. “It was a twenty-gil cat, too, I saw the blue eyes myself!”

As if this whole mess wasn't disturbing enough knowing he was being hunted, now he was being _hunted_. If that was true, everyone from child to granny to business owner would be trying to find a blue-eyed cat.

Whatever he was going to do to save himself, it had to be soon. Really soon. Once he was back in Hojo’s labs would be far too late.

He was at the very edge of the populated area when he saw it. A woman had stopped to rest at the side of the path, her bag lying on the ground beside her. Inside the open top, he could see what looked like the edge of a phone, decorated by one of those cutesy, dangling phone charms. It was temptingly close to a space he was sure he should be able to get through. But how to get there? And what if this was another ambush?

He took a couple of minutes to do a quick scan of the area — not daring to take more as she could leave at any point — and determined she was alone.

He couldn't waste the chance.

He was a bit better now at figuring out how a scrap heap was put together and was edging closer to the bag and its contents on silent feet not long after. It _was_ a phone. Slowly, carefully, he reached one paw out of concealment and into the bag. Nothing moved, nothing snapped shut on him. Good. He hooked a claw into the charm string and started to pull.

Luck, for the first time that day, was with him and it slid easily from the bag and into the space with him without a sound. Carefully he backed away, then took the charm in his mouth and carried his prize away to examine.

He stopped when he was as far away as he dared to go; any further and he didn't know if he’d be able to get back to his body through convoluted enough paths to throw any possible pursuit before dusk.

The spot he stopped in was part of yet another path in the scrap, though this one seemed to get very little traffic. Perfect.

It took a little effort to open the phone — paws really weren’t meant for this — but soon he was staring at a number pad, the thing set to speaker mode with a bit more fumbling. Now, what was the phone number? He had both his friends on speed-dial, it had been so long since he’d actually needed to punch it in. Angeal’s was... was... damn it. Sephiroth, however, was easier thanks in no small part to the President wanting something he could remember easily in case of emergency.

111-1111. Yes, we get it. Sephiroth is number one. Ha. Ha. Idiot.

The tinny sound of ringing came through the phone’s cheap speakers. Once. Twice.

“Who is this?” came the familiar sound of his friend's voice, unbelievably comforting after his last few days.

“It's me!” he tried to answer, but “Meow!” was what actually came out. Shit. How could he not have remembered...?

“I will ask one more time: Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“Mreow!!”

“Who is it?” he heard Angeal say in the background. They were together, then. Good.

Sephiroth’s voice was a little quieter as he answered, apparently putting a little distance between him and his unknown feline caller. “I don't know; I don't know the number. It sounds like someone's cat might have called.”

“A cat?” there was a huff of laughter, stopped abruptly by a thought. “Hey... didn't Gen escape with a cat?”

“What are you thinking? If it was Genesis, he’d be speaking—”

“Mreeeeeow!!”

“—not getting a _cat_ to call for him.” A pause. “Unless....”

“Unless...?”

Sephiroth’s voice came back louder as he turned back to the phone and away from the background conversation. “Genesis? Is that you? Meow twice for yes, once for no.”

“Seph, you can't honestly think—”

“Meow meow.” _Yes!_ Trust Seph to come up with the right explanation, no matter how implausible!

“Wait, what? _Genesis?_ ” Angeal, shocked disbelief plain in his almost-squeaky tone.

“Meow meow.” Nice to hear you too, Angeal!

“How is this possible? He can't be a cat!”

“Never underestimate how far Hojo will go when left to his own devices.”

“But how do we know it's really Gen? Just because it's started meowing twice doesn't prove anything. It could be just because we’re talking more too.”

“Genesis. Two meows for true, one for false.” Sephiroth again.

“Meow meow?”

“Your name is Genesis.”

“Meow meow.”

“You’re a SOLDIER First Class.”

“Meow meow.” Too easy. Come on, Sephiroth!

“Your weapon of choice is the Buster.”

“Meow.” He almost rolled his eyes at the mental image of himself — his real self — trying to wield a huge slab of metal like the Buster. It had all the grace of a concrete wall!

“You’re obsessed with Loveless.”

“...Meow meow.” He wouldn't really call it _obsession_ , per se, just a deeply profound appreciation but he knew how they saw it, so....

“You’re the President of Shinra.”

“Meow.”

“Satisfied?” Sephiroth was quieter again as he addressed Angeal.

“It's him. Shit. What did Hojo _do?_ Just make you talk like a cat? Where are you? Are you all right? Do you need help? Of course you need help, you’re meowing!”

“Angeal—”

“Where are you? We can go — What?”

“Unless you can understand Meow all of a sudden, I don't think bombarding him with questions he can't answer is helpful.”

“Oh, right. Gen, are you still in Sector Five below-Plate?”

They had already tracked him that far? It made him feel good to know that they had cared enough to start looking so soon. “Meow meow.”

“Can you come to us?”

“Meow.” Well, _he_ could but he wasn't about to abandon his body. He needed it!

“Are you safe?”

“Meow.” Furthest thing from it, really....

“Shit. What could — Hojo. He knows something interesting happened and is trying to find you.”

“Meow meow.” So you better find me first!

“Shit.” A small pause. “How do we narrow this down, Seph? A whole Sector is a lot of ground to cover, especially if they’re already down there looking for him.”

“Genesis, is there any—”

Genesis stopped listening abruptly as his fur stood on end. Something was here. Something was watching him. Something—

He looked up to see what he could only describe as the unholy love-child of a guard hound, a marlboro, and some kind of scaled lizard watching him from far too close. Whatever it was, or was supposed to be, it had ‘ _Hojo was here_ ’ written all over it.

It let out a deep, rumbling growl and charged.

It was _fast_.

Before he could dodge, it had slammed into him, bowling him over, and then smashed him across the path with a swipe of one huge paw, then followed him like... well, like a dog playing with a toy.

  
On the other end of the line, the conversation slammed to a halt as they heard the growl, then a pained yowl and series of thuds and bangs, followed by more growls, hisses, yowls, and half-moans that sounded almost like a marlboro about to Bad Breath someone.

The scuffling —fighting— got nearer, then the line went dead as something happened to the phone.

Wide blue met concerned green, even as both men stood abruptly and made their way from the building as swiftly as possible. They knew, logically, that they would never arrive in time to be any help in the current fight — assuming they could find its location at all — but neither could sit there and do _nothing_ after hearing _that_.


End file.
